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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062468">Spittin' Your Blood In The Sink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soda_coded/pseuds/soda_coded'>soda_coded</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Masochism, Painplay, Public Masturbation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:34:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soda_coded/pseuds/soda_coded</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel tries as hard as he can to get away when kidnapped. </p><p>Really. He <em>does</em> try.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sebastian Michaelis/Ciel Phantomhive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spittin' Your Blood In The Sink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Amazing, wonderful, brain-eating idea from my gorgeous wife. I missed this fandom oh so terribly.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’s already gotten them to slap him and punch him and kick him before they come up with the idea for a gag, but when they start discussing how to tie it, that’s when Ciel is certain he won’t call for Sebastian. Some discussion and then they decide on shoving a spare handkerchief into his mouth and tying another around his head, splitting his lips. It tastes foul and dries out his tongue. Ciel rather wishes they’d gone with the belt, but the man was right. He would have bitten it. He would have left marks in the new leather. He likes to bite.</p><p>He should call out. He should argue before they finish knotting the tie, give an order so the eternal contract between them stings to life and his pet demon knows to come and save him from this human hell.</p><p>They slap him for smiling. Ciel keeps quiet as they do it.</p><p>They load him into the back of a car, quickly, even though he drags his feet. He thinks the local villains are getting smarter… Natural selection, he supposes. Sebastian had been hard on the delicate ecosystem that devised London’s teeming underbelly. Had come down like judgement on the men whose lives Ciel managed as neatly as he did opium deliveries through the port. Only the truly clever, or very obedient remained. The second location is good. Only a bonus that it will take Sebastian time to find the first and then more wasted time to find the second. </p><p>They drive for a while, and his legs are cramping, all pins and needles where he’s been shoved into the foot rest. Presumably to keep anyone from seeing him, but the man sitting in front of him has been sweating and shifting… <em> disgusting </em>.</p><p>A thrill runs down his spine, and he knows he’s going to do it before he really decides to. He tilts his head back and the thug in front of him makes nervous, beady eye contact. And then Ciel drives his head into his gut as firmly as he can. In the next second he’s sitting up on his knees, doing his best to climb the man with his arms and legs tied. Any thread, and all that.</p><p>It predictably upsets the car, sending them swerving across the road. There is yelling. In the moments before he is shoved back down, he is seized by half a dozen hands, hard and jittery on his body. He fights, and as he fights, the hands tighten. Supply and demand. His slack smirk is lost in the tussle. Then he is crushed mercilessly back into the foot rest. They’re cursing him and the startled driver, and there is a hand on his neck keeping his head down like a yoke and Ciel’s prick is harder than he knows how to make it by himself.</p><p>When they’ve carried him into the second location (upside down, the blood rushing to his foolish head), they throw him into the corner of the room and discuss the men who should have arrived before him, the first act of this comedy. Ciel frowns. Sebastian must already know. </p><p>He needs to hurry. A few slaps and kicks was hardly a good kidnapping.</p><p>The next man who approaches him gets a foot to the shin and then to the crotch when he doesn’t move fast enough, and Ciel grins around the bite of the fabric. He’s fighting for his <em> life </em> . It’s <em> natural </em> to struggle. It has nothing to do with the way they pin him, grinding his face into cheap carpet that stinks of ash and spilled beer.</p><p>They rip the first handkerchief from him, they want to talk to him, but Ciel bites the handkerchief still in his mouth, and fights. Struggles until he’s panting, and they’re yelling, and he doesn’t see the punch coming, so the pain hits like a drug and he moans. Twitches for a second but still otherwise, and rough fingers quickly pry the handkerchief, soggy and chewed from between his lips. He bites those too, and the resulting jab from a boot tip makes his sore mouth grin.</p><p>He should call out. Sebastian’s looking for him, almost definitely close enough to hear, and he might not get another chance… </p><p>Instead he calls the leader an idiot, an impotent middle man with delusions of rising beyond his birth, a low born <em> filthy </em>-</p><p>They shake him so hard his vision rattles and his teeth click, blood filling his mouth, sweet and familiar. He’s stiffening again under the repeated attention, under the hands pressing him to the floor, trying so hard to still him. Another slap to the face, and his cheeks will be swollen and red after this. He moans again, and the sound acts like a siren call, blood in the water-</p><p>(beasts are all the same. With the cultists, he learned to never make a sound. So quiet, so still it ripped from his throat when he called for him-)</p><p>He’s still cursing them with every breath, and when his foot catches something soft behind him and the grip loosens, he runs. He’s on his knees, then his feet and he’s stumbling and sore. It’s maybe a step or two before they take him down, Ciel spitting vitriol and clawing any skin in reach until they crush his wrists flat with their massive hands. (Ugh, Christ, so <em> good </em>.) He’s pulled up on his knees again, and there’s a hand in his hair, dragging him back before the thug they call their boss. </p><p>Beasts are all the same. Hungry. Ciel didn’t blink when they ordered him stripped, but he did fight. They couldn’t hold every part of him at once and they wouldn’t kill him yet, so he wore himself out, like throwing himself at a wall. The hands got harder and harder as a result, as his fists hit home, peppered on arms and thighs. </p><p>A crash in the distance, and Ciel calms momentarily, allowing them to pull him free of his pants, his shirt hanging torn around his neck. He’s red from the bruising grip of his captors, and he can still taste blood when he runs his tongue over his teeth. He’s not quite there, but then Sebastian hits the room, and everyone stops paying attention to him for a moment. </p><p>Starts dying, and Ciel tugs his pants back up, discarding his ruined belt onto the ground. Crawls to the side when a man falls gurgling beside him, a butter knife in each eye. </p><p>Sebastian always takes it personally when he finds him naked. Ciel thinks it’s sort of romantic. A re-enactment of their first night.</p><p>He leans his back against the wall, body humming pleasantly from his exertions and watches as his butler does what he does best. </p><p>When it’s over the room is quiet, and Ciel is biting the hem of his shirt, one hand tugging his prick in sharp jerks. </p><p>“Ridiculous.” Sebastian says, and Ciel groans, fussing. He’d been close, but now everyone is dead, and Sebastian is looking at him like he’s something beautiful, and pitiable and delicious. “It’s been less than a week since you’ve incited a kidnapping.”</p><p>“That was… <em> barely </em>, a kidnapping.” Ciel says. Bites his lip and curls over his hand as he finally cums, the disdain in Sebastian’s eyes pushing him neatly over the edge. The room is quiet except for his heavy breaths as he gathers himself. “Ugh. Give me something to clean up with.”</p><p>“Yes, my Lord.” Sebastian says it, but, oh. The <em> way </em> he says it. Ciel takes the proffered piece of… eugh, dead man’s shirt and cleans himself. Raises his arms, and when Sebastian doesn’t move, bounces his eyebrows.</p><p>Sebastian sighs.</p><p>“Up?” He asks, and Ciel nods. Rooftop at midnight was the best way to see the city he loves. “Alright, Bocchan. Up you go.”</p><p>“I want cake when we get home.”</p><p>“Yes, my Lord.”</p><p>“And heated milk.”</p><p>“Yes, my Lord.”</p><p>“And your mouth.”</p><p>“...yes, my Lord.”</p>
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